Magic is eternal
by Red Furry Demon
Summary: After being introduced to the wizarding society, Harry soon decides to be Voldemort's rival rather than a victim - but who said it's easy to become a Dark Lord? AU. Dark!CrackFic. No bashing. No pairing involving the protagonist, and definitely NOT HP/LV/TMR.
1. The Boy Who Lived to be a Nerd

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters from the Potterverse belong to JKR. Most of unrecognizable characters (if any) come from my rotten mind. You may also find some mentions of other works – all characters belong to their respective owners.

**Timeline: **starts like the original series, the summer before Harry's first year at Hogwarts (PS/SS) and continues to the sixth year (HBP).

**Warnings:** all evil stuff Dark Lords tend to do: Dark Magic, murder, torture, theft of lemon drops, unhealthy relationships with snakes. Specific warnings, if needed, will be placed on the beginning of every chapter.

**More warnings:**

Expect anything. If you see something completely bizarre, it's here on purpose. Like, don't be surprised if you find, _exemplum gratia_, Hagrid being a master Occlumens. This is crack. You have been warned.

I'm not going to bash anyone. Not Percy, not Ron, and definitely NOT Dumbledore. Some characters might be described unfairly when the narration is more from Harr's POV tough.

Don't read it for the pairings; one - I'm rubbish at writing romance, two - _**you won't see Harry paired with anyone**_. For Merlin's sake, don't whine for HP/HG, HP/DM, HP/LV/TMR... British Dark Lords do not have time for running after girls. Or boys. Or anything they could be paired with.

_**Please note that English is not my first language.**_ I make mistakes just like everyone else, and sometimes even my dear beta, Yentshmyen, can't catch everything. Grammar Nazis are welcome to point out any errors they see.**  
**

* * *

_**Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom**_

_**Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived to be a Nerd**_

Seventy-five percent of the people of Number Four, Privet Drive – namely, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley – were completely, absolutely and entirely normal. The remaining twenty-five consisted of a boy of middle height, with a mop of jet-black messy hair. His eyes were bright green, a bit resembling the eyes of Lily Evans – only a shade colder, strangely alike in their color to the deathbringing flame. He wore round glasses, because apparently the Dark Arts damage eyesight... Oh, wait. We haven't gotten to that part yet.

Anyway, Harry Potter was nothing like his living relatives.

_Cute child_, said Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady living on the street next to Privet Drive. _Little devil_, said his teacher, who had his own reasons to make such judgment. _Talented boy_, said Vernon Dursley. _Freak_, said the kids in Dudley's gang.

* * *

Long time ago he noticed there was something _different_ about him, something that made him special among the ordinary people – and he wasn't entirely sure whether he shall feel worried or happy because of that. For no particular reason, strange incidents seemed to like Harry a lot. More than he would like them to, actually. Once, he unwillingly set his teacher's wig on fire – _blue fire__ – _without even approaching the guy. Perhaps that's why they didn't like each other much...

Another example – their next-door neighbor had a huge dog, which he accidentally let out one evening; it was in a rather serene mood, yet Harry could somehow get it to bite Duddydums once... or twice... or... anyway, it was worth the fun Harry had that day.

Uncle Vernon insisted Harry had his hair cut once or twice a week, as he didn't wish any 'uncivilized cavemen' sleep under the same roof as him. He gave up after five consecutive visits at barbers, none of which made Harry's hair any different after just one night. Was that magic, or just the genetic heritage of a certain Marauder?

In the past, Harry had often wondered why the Dursleys never fussed so much over him doing the unexplainable; after all, they weren't fond of anything _abnormal_... He worked out three possible answers: a) he didn't cause as much trouble as his sweet cousin, b) his aunt and uncle didn't give a damn about him, c) both. The last one was probably the closest to the truth. Not that he was some abused child from an orphanage. AND he totally didn't have a secret desire to rule the world... Not yet.

Having tried a few times to use these mysterious abilities on purpose – mostly, to no avail, he came to the conclusion that most of the time it was just a slight trick of his own brain or a coincidence.

However, on the day of his eleventh birthday everything changed.

* * *

"BOY!"

The yell of uncle Vernon echoed the whole Privet Drive – and possibly the rest of the town as well. However, it fell to deaf ears when it came to the person it was directed at.

Harry, who was sitting in the kitchen, trying to focus on reading, listened closely. Aunt Petunia looked up from over her precious orchid, stopping the pruning for a while.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" boomed the man. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU FAIL AGAIN? I CAN'T BELIEVE, IS THIS THAT DIFFICULT OR ARE YOU JUST MIRACULOUSLY RETARDED?!"

Harry thanked the heavens, the CapsLock attack was gone.

Someone was crying – well, not really crying, it sounded more like a howl of a kid who really, really wanted something to happen – his father to stop shouting, in this case – and couldn't get it no matter what.

Harry got to his feet and carefully peeked out into the salon, only to see his uncle shaking a sheet of paper in front of Dudley's face. A sheet with lots of red glyphs and a huge _F_ on the top.

"Believe me, I don't demand the impossible!"

Harry sighed heavily. He didn't need to listen more.

"Math Test Rage Outburst again?" he asked his aunt, although the answer was already known to him.

Petunia slowly nodded, muttering something about how her son was ruining his life, and got back to the plant.

With another sigh over his pitiful cousin, Harry continued the reading.

* * *

Or at least he _tried_ to do so, because even his mysterious abilities wouldn't fully protect his ears.

"If you don't want to achieve top marks in every test, you can still do something USEFUL! Work for Grunnings! Breed dogs like aunt Marge! You can even stay at home and help your old mother-"

Dudley wailed again and even Vernon's words got lost in the piercing noise; when the kid had stopped, the uncle was so tired that his voice got hoarse.

"-look at your friends, Piers came in first in three running contests in a row, Malcolm learns cooking with his grandfather, I'm sure Gordon has some plans as well... What kind of life do _you_ have? I am working to get you the best future, and you throw it away, only to sit and play these gory MMOs; your cousin can appreciate that little fact of my care, and-"

"He's a weirdo!" Dudley interrupted.

"But he's more hard-working!" yelled Vernon. "I don't have to shout to have him study!"

Harry's endurance had reached its brim. He closed the book and got the hell out of there.

For the next hours, everything seemed to go its normal way. Except of one particular incident.

* * *

"HOW DID THAT BLOODY OWL GET HERE!?" roared his uncle.

Indeed, a large, gray owl perched on the windowsill. It looked expectantly at the boys; Dudley wanted to touch it, forgetting that owls aren't the same kind of birds as chickens. Well...

It took a while to get the bird off his head.

"Vernon, take it easy," said Petunia, trying to approach the owl without giving it an opportunity to use its sharp talons again. "The window was open, it probably just flew into the room and didn't know how to get out."

"Uncle, you will scare the bird," interrupted Harry. Vernon went silent and the only source of sound was whimpering Dudley.

"Look, it dropped something," the aunt pointed at an envelope resting on the floor. "A... a letter?"

Slowly, the horrible realization crawled upon her mind. That wasn't true... That _could not_ be true... And yet her nephew had just gotten his first letter.

His letter to _Hogwarts_.

Petunia shooed Vernon and Dudley out of the room and locked the door from inside. "Open it."

Harry bent over and picked it up. Made of yellowish parchment, with a drawing of a medieval-looking crest, reminded him instantly of the Middle Earth and the RPGs Dudley's gang played constantly. He turned the envelope to see who sent it, but the only address was his own one:

_Mr. H. Potter, The Spare Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_

He had never gotten a letter; in fact, none of the inhabitants of Number Four had. The only exception were the phone bills – blame Aunt Petunia for that. Besides... Who would address a letter like that? He scrutinized its contents – two pieces of parchment, everything on them written in green ink, and a somewhat ancient-looking train ticket.

"It says I have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said Harry, slightly puzzled. "It is probably another idiotic prank my beloved cousin and his gang were hoping to make, or-"

Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, something was saying otherwise...

"It's not," whispered aunt Petunia. "And don't insult Dudley."

"It's not, _because...?"_

"Harry, your parents were – well, they were wizards," she said, trying to sound casually.

"You're kidding me, Aunt, aren't you?" was the only reply she'd gotten.

Petunia shook her head. "No, it's true. Magic does exist."

His initial excitement faded slightly, only to be replaced by disappointment and carefully hidden wrath, as Harry slowly said:

"And you didn't care to explain that little fact?"

* * *

Six days passed already since Harry had sent the owl with his reply and nothing foreshadowed any unpredicted events. Six days of silence between him and his aunt.

That morning was as normal as any other – Harry got up, ate whatever Petunia hid from Dudley, checked mail, cleaned his room, etc, etc.

He was intent on being a normal boy, while his internal musings were interrupted by the ring of the doorbell.

Aunt Petunia opened the door, only to see a tiny man with greying hair, wearing a pointy hat and something closely resembling a dress.

"Hello, my name is Filius Flitwick. Does Mr. Harry Potter live here?"

* * *

**AN: Soo... Yeah. That's the first chapter. Hope you'll like it, folks. Reviews are love!**

**Notes and Explanations:**

**Cold Fire** (Canon spell; HP wiki: Bluebell Flames) - _Flamma careulea_ \- an easy spell that creates relatively harmless flame. Wizards tend to use a lot of fire-based magic - especially in battle, so prepare yourself for more...

**Dursleys are friendly** \- the main reason why Harry is NOT going to hate all Muggles - he believes that this fact makes him a better Dark Lord than Voldy was.


	2. Knock- I mean, the Diagon Alley

**Disclaimer:** same as in the first chapter.

* * *

_**Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom**_

_**Chapter 2: Knock- I mean, the Diagon Alley**_

"Could you somehow prove that magic exists, professor?" asked Harry after hearing the basic explanation (_you're a wizard and you will learn in the best school of magic, assuming nothing will eat/kill/injure/etc. you before that_).

Flitwick reached to his pocket and took out a wooden stick – was that the 'wand' mentioned in the letter?

_"Expecto patronum!"_

A silvery shape shot out of the stick – as it soared upwards, Harry could ascertain it had taken the form of some bird – possibly a raven?, and the substance behaved strangely; it seemed to be light, pure energy, and yet possessing the properties of matter. He wasn't entirely sure what could he do with that spell, apart from using it in place of a lamp – but if the whole magic could do something else than just light up the darkness, infinite possibilities would open to him, and...

"Er, what have you just done, sir?" he asked, still watching the glowing bird.

"This is a spell called the Patronus Charm," said the professor. "You will learn it in your seven year."

Harry's eyes momentarily lit up.

_I think Albus forgot to warn me __about something_, Flitwick thought.

* * *

"My parents were killed by some madman," said Harry, more to himself than to the professor. "I can't believe they could be defeated so easily if they were wizards."

"You must understand, Harry, not every wizard is good," said Flitwick, losing some of the joy from his voice. "And ten years ago, one of the most evil sorcerers of all times was at his greatest power. He was a Dark wizard, a horrible one. With his army of followers – they called themselves 'the Death Eaters', or 'the Knights of Walpurgis' – he tried to overtake the Ministry – the Ministry of Magic, yes, there_ is_ one – and purge the Wizarding World of those who he thought to be unworthy to possess magical abilities."

"How?"

Flitwick stared at him. Of all questions the boy must have had, he decided to ask this one? "I have never studied such areas of magic," he said carefully. "Curses, Blood Magic, rising corpses, and overall, the Dark Arts."

_Dark wizards use the Dark Arts_; it was getting more and more interesting.

"He tried to kill you," Flitwick continued, "but miraculously, the spell rebounded and hit him instead. All you got from that was a scar."

Harry instinctively touched his forehead, when a sudden realization struck him.

"Is that normal if a such scar hurts sometimes for no reason?"

Flitwick glanced at him briefly, look of disbelief on his face.

"Damage inflicted with the Dark Arts is difficult to heal, but in the end it will remain just a normal scar."

Harry didn't truly believe that.

* * *

"Now that you know the story about the Boy Who Lived, I can take you to Diagon Alley – that's where wizards shop, you will be able to gather the supplies for school. Or would you like to wait and go on your own later?"

"We can go now, if you don't mind, professor. I'd like to find out more about the magical world."

"The rush for knowledge is always appreciated in Hogwarts," beamed Flitwick, as he took a firm grip on Harry's arm.

* * *

"There we are," said Flitwick, helping Harry stand while the boy was vomiting at the ground. To be honest - he shouldn't have tried that, perhaps Floo would be better; but soon Harry was as alright as any would-be Hogwarts student after their first side-along Apparition. Next time, he'd just ask for a broomstick, though.

* * *

Flitwick excused the crowd ("I have to get a certain magical object of great power") and led Harry into the courtyard. Passing a trash can, he stopped, his eyes fixed upon a scrap of parchment attached – probably by means of magic – to the brick wall before them.

_OUT OF ORDER_

_technical issues – please return tomorrow_

Flitwick took a second to deadpan properly at the wall. "Seriously...?"

"What's wrong, professor?" Harry looked at him expectantly.

"Looks like the portal to Diagon Alley is currently broken."

If any of the Hogwarts professors would go back and try again later – it wouldn't be Filius Flitwick, who had spent his whole childhood wandering magical London and knew his way around, perhaps even better than an average fully-human wizard.

"We'll have to go down the Vertical Alley, then the Forgotten Avenue and get straight to Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank. There's only one downside: it will require Apparition to another passage."

Harry turned green at the mere thought of going through _that_ once again.

"Well... There _is_ one more way..." Flitwick hesitated for a few seconds, before leading Harry out of the Leaky Cauldron and back into the streets of London.

* * *

They stood under a small, hardly noticeable door. The wood looked like it had seen better times; the doorknob was missing and only a gaping hole remained in where the lock should have been. Its whole surface had been covered with inscriptions throughout the years; somebody carved a snake in the center. The rotten planks seemed to disintegrate right in front of their eyes.

Nevertheless, when Harry tried to push it open, the door didn't quiver. Flitwick tapped it thrice with his wand. The passage opened, revealing...

Before Harry looked further into the street, his curiosity took over.

"Professor, what was that spell?"

"It was only a trigger to the charms already resting on that wall," Flitwick answered happily.

"So there are ways to preserve magic? It can be not only used directly when casting, but also switched on whenever you need it?"

"To your questions: it's yes, yes, and yes. You would be a great Ravenclaw, you know. I will tell you about the houses once we find Diagon Alley – it's not very safe to stay for too long in this rotten place."

* * *

The passage was still open, revealing a narrow, gloomy alleyway. Several unusual – if not outright dangerous – people were doing their shopping or just ambling around (in search of a victim?). One wizard was whispering something to a hole in the wall (Harry didn't know whether the hole responded or not). A small humanoid creature ("An elf," the professor muttered) carried a black cat in its tiny arms. A shabby man with bloodshot eyes was examining a heap of golden chalices (_?_, Harry thought).

"Many people were forced to escape here ten years ago," Flitwick said darkly. "Today it's suspiciously quiet. You don't need to be afraid; not during the day and with me. I have some friends here too."

The window of Dystyl Phaelanges was full of various bones, from tiny rodent claws, through human shin bones, to toothed jaws of what Harry suspected to be a dragon. One of the shops was almost entirely covered with a cobweb – strangely, the sign above informed:

_Cobb &amp; Webb's – various Dark items – reasonable price and lifelong warranty*_

_*the word 'lifelong' can be relative._

"Is the whole magical world like that?" asked Harry, admiring shrunken heads, black spiders, vials of teeth-mossing potions, and a shiny opal necklace in the shop windows as they were passing.

Flitwick looked at him with concern. "No, of course not, Harry. What you have seen was only the Dark side."

"Pity. I like it this way better, professor."

Flitwick decided to refrain from a comment.

Harry had an awkward feeling that someone was approaching them.

_"Hello Filius, long time no see!"_

He whirled around, expecting a Death Eater or another dubious individual, but it turned out to be just an aged witch peddling hangman fingernails (16 Knuts a set) and fresh (?) hearts of unborn babies (a Galleon and five Sickles each).

* * *

The goblins seemed to treat the professor as one of his kind; towards Harry they acted almost polite. They didn't seem _very_ hostile to humans, probably as long as they could do dealings with the _foul wand-bearers_.

Instead of standing in the long queue to the goblin attending to – as the sign above informed – _WITHDRAWAL__S, _Flitwick lead Harry further into the marble hall.

"Ksher has enough clients to take care of, I don't want to take his time when I do the Diagon Alley Rush with a student," he said.

He addressed one of the goblins who approached him to say hello: "Griph! Will it be a problem to withdraw the Stone now and do the usual?"

"See Schro about that, I have a meeting in half an hour," Griphook held up the parchments, "our dear Minister Fudge is still thinking he can take over the running of Gringotts. If he wants me cooked in a pie like he's had Bogrod, I will need a sharp axe. Had anything happened, ask Relhord about vault 259."

* * *

"Who's Schro, professor?" Harry followed the receding goblin with his eyes. "And why would the Minister want to cook goblins in pies?"

Flitwick squinted.

"The answer to your first question is fairly simple: Schrouded is the Terribly High Protection Vaults manager and a friend of mine. As for Minister Fudge... That's a different matter altogether. Ever since he'd become the Minister of Magic, he's been trying to claim what does not belong to him. We just wait until he decides to seize control over the school."

The goblin – and don't you dare ask how he got his name – greeted Harry politely and exchanged several words with Flitwick in a harsh, guttural language Harry had never heard before. "I haven't read the records recently, but judging by the size of the coin pile, there should be about five hundred Galleons if you add up the Knuts and Sickles, plus two – perhaps three – thousand Galleons in your family vault," he said when he switched back to English.

"Is that much?" asked Harry. "What could one buy for this amount of money?"

"Good-quality school equipment for a first-year costs sixteen to twenty Galleons," said professor Flitwick. "A new book usually isn't more expensive than half a Galleon, a post owl costs three, and for a fast broom you can pay even several hundred."

_Mmm... a broom... _oh, that's just a brief call of the Potter blood.

"The Potters used to be one of the wealthiest wizarding families," continued Schro. "Unfortunately, your grandfather Charlus Potter had an extremely serious accident and most of the gold had been spent on scrubbing him off the grou- I mean, the healing. And there was also that scandal with Hadrian Potter in 1898... Last time I checked the family vault, there were more antics and weaponry than actual money."

Harry took exactly twenty-five Galleons from his vault – 687; he really wanted to take a peek at the family treasures, but he could do that any time, and his own wand couldn't wait.

"I'll buy some second-hand books, then. _For now_, end of the problem," he turned to the goblin. "Can I exchange some of the gold into normal money? I mean, non-magical?"

* * *

Vault 713 was empty.

"Who..." breathed the goblin. _"How?"_

* * *

First thing he bought was of course the wand; Harry wouldn't want to hear about anything else until he could finally examine the flexible stick of wood.

But finding the right one wasn't as easy as it might look like. He had tried already thirty-something different wands, and the wandmaker, Garrick Ollivander, was slowly getting more and more worried. From time to time, there was a spark of magic in the air, however Mr. Ollivander kept pulling the sticks from the shelves.

After the forty-ninth (maple and Unicorn hair), Flitwick had been nearly utterly sure the boy was a Squib, but then, he had no explanation to the accidental magic Arabella frequently reported.

"Tricky customer – I haven't had one like that in ages – there is a matching wand somewhere..." muttered Ollivander.

"Does it have a point?" asked Harry, who was deathly bored and already with terrible pain in his right wrist. "Can't I just-"

"We _will_ find a wand for you," assured him Mr. Ollivander, sounding as if he'd rather drop dead than stop bringing wands until Harry had the best wand in the world. "Now, try this one. Eleven inches. Phoenix and holly – rare combination – I think it might work in your case."

Harry, who didn't give a damn about whether or not it was the right wand and was just praying

to get out of there, took the stick and gave it a wave.

Golden sparks shot out from the tip, and the boy quickly put the wand away – very quickly, as if the holly wood burned his hand. It rolled on Ollivander's desk, light dancing on the polished surface.

"Magnificent!" cried Mr. Ollivander. A smile spread on Flitwick's face; the man breathed a sigh of relief. Harry Potter, the hope of the Wizarding World, _was_ magical.

"Curious... You see, Mr. Potter, the feather in the core of your wand comes from the same Phoenix whose feather was used to make the Dark Lord's wand," Mr. Ollivander looked at Harry with his trademark piercing stare that reached the depths of the soul. "What's more – that Phoenix is the pet of one Albus Dumbledore."

"Couldn't you let me try another one, sir?" asked Harry in silent voice. "This wand feels very strange."

"Not to worry, it will work perfectly," assured him the wandmaker.

"I'm still not sure if I want it."

"Wand chooses a wizard, Mr. Potter. From now on, the bond between you two is formed. It is possible to use a wand borrowed from an ally or taken by force from an enemy, but it will never respond as good as your own. Even if somebody takes this wand from you, it may (or may not) remember you were the master of it."

"Can a wand completely switch its allegiance?" Harry asked. "For example, if someone is dead and I take the-"

Ollivander's face fell. "No."

Seconds later Harry and Flitwick exited the shop, having paid eleven Galleons, carrying the holly stick.

* * *

Next on the list were plain black robes. Professor Flitwick explained that the house crest and colored outline will appear the night after Sorting; however, when Harry asked how the first-years are going to be 'Sorted', he said it was a mater of great secrecy.

Inside Flourish &amp; Blotts it soon became clear that even though Harry wasn't interested in getting a photograph with some golden-haired author, Flitwick had to almost drag him out of the bookshop – thanks to a terribly absorbing read by one Professor Vindictus Viridian. It was many days later when Harry realized that no one in their right mind would bother themselves with jinxes and hexes... But hey, everyone has to start small.

Remembering what was written in the letter, Harry took a step inside Magical Menagerie, but soon he decided against buying a pet. He wanted some ferocious, terrifying monster or a creature just plain Dark, spreading the aura of death everywhere; even a black cat wouldn't satisfy him. Perhaps a snake or a raven, but these weren't listed in the letter – he should check if it was possible to keep one at Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep that night – it's not everyday one finds out about being a wizard, after all – so he just lay in his bed with _The Magical World: An Introduction for the Muggleborns_ open on a chapter about Merlin and the Hogwarts Four (_The Dawn of Contemporary Magic_), thinking of everything he remembered from the trip to Diagon Alley. Wand-waving, creatures, spells, it all was magnificent... Except of one aspect of magical society.

He pondered for a while over the words of Flitwick. What did the professor say about Voldemort? _With his army of followers he tried to overtake the Ministry and purge the Wizarding World of those who he thought to be unworthy to possess magical abilities._ But what if, instead of that-

Harry slammed the book shut.

Why not? If a Dark Wizard was after his blood anyway, couldn't he give it a try? Because honestly speaking, the Wizarding Britain didn't need a good Minister as much as it needed _a good Dark Lord._

This was certainly the right way to solve things.

* * *

**AN: I can't believe I wrote such a long chapter... But I like to introduce certain characters and ideas before actually using them.  
**

**Big thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or faved.**

**If you enjoyed the chapter - leave a review! If you didn't enjoy it - I'm curious what I could improve!**

**Notes and Explanations:**

**Entrance to Knockturn Alley** \- don't tell me there is only one portal to the magical part of London. Just don't.

**Flitwick's Patronus** \- HP wiki says he couldn't create a corporeal one; I disagree though. Really, he's on the same power level as McGonagall and more experienced than Snape, surely he could cast it! I don't think I have to explain why his Patronus would be a raven.

**People on Knockturn** \- the Whispering Wizard appears in CoS movie; I hope you also recognized Mundungus. We'll also get to the house elf at some point.

**Schro **\- one of my lovely OCs. And no, I didn't misspell his name.

**Shops on Knockturn Alley** \- there is more than just Borgin and Burke's; look the mu on HP wiki. I think this place will play a major role in the story at least a couple of times.


	3. Welcome to Hogwarts

**Disclaimer:** same as in the first chapter.

* * *

_**Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom**_

_**Chapter 3: Welcome to Hogwarts**_

"There it is!"

Quirrel's eyes flashed crimson when he had finally pulled the mysterious content of vault 713 out of the small grubby bag; he unwrapped it with shaking hands - one layer... and the one beneath... Something fairly heavy rolled out. The-

No. (More like _NOOOOO!_, but Voldemort always liked to dramatize.)

He would find the bastard, kill him, raise him undead, kill once more, and feed his body to snakes for a good measure. Apparently, someone thought it was a good idea to give him (read: leave to be stolen) a magically synthetized crystal. It wouldn't be as annoying if it weren't for that lemon drop embedded inside.

* * *

_Life is beautiful_, thought the Potions Master, tuning out Poppy's ramblings about the increasing problem of obesity among the students during the final staff meeting on the twenty-ninth of August.

Similarly, he ignored Minnie's complaints about the moving staircases (approximately 0.7 of a student gets injured per month when falling off the stairs) as well as Silvanus' whining that the death toll had significantly risen after the new Care of Magical Creatures textbook had been introduced (the new curriculum covered practical classes with some XXXXX rank beasts, but who cares?). It was the headmaster's voice that brought him back to attention.

"Now that all urgent matters had been discussed, I can officially remind all of you about one particular wizard who will be starting Hogwarts this year. Of course, I'm speaking of Harry Potter."

Severus weakly passed his nearly empty glass to the Runes professor. "Bathsheda, pour me more firewhiskey, will you?"

* * *

An innocent-looking boy was walking along platform nine, pulling a cart with his trunk on it. He was a wizard – and mind you, one that had an ambition to renew the magical world and wanted nothing in return. In theory at least.

"- packed with Muggles, of course -"

Muggles? That was a wizarding term! Harry turned around to see a plump woman with a little girl and a bunch of boys, all of them with flaming red hair; he made a step towards them, when-

No. Approaching them would be a reckless move; little he knew of magic itself, yet he was aware that something along the lines of a Secret Statute existed and it was strictly _forbidden_ to use magical terminology around Muggles. Who normal would mention the Muggles on King's Cross, and why did that woman have to ask her kids about the platform – they certainly weren't all first years! Voldemort might have his followers everywhere, but Harry wasn't a fool who would walk willingly into a trap.

He waited a longer while until each of the redheads disappeared from his sight before he passed through the barrier like a number of wizards and witches before him.

* * *

The very first thing Harry saw were lots of wizards, owls, cats, and an occasional toad; second – the crimson-red steam engine next to the platform; third – the unmistakable number 9 ¾. He strolled down the platform to find a silent (if possible) place for himself.

"Muggle scum," he heard from a blonde man in dark robes, passing just behind him.

The tabby cat sitting on the platform narrowed her eyes.

* * *

Harry opened the door of the last compartment.

A bushy-haired girl was reading a book which he recognized as _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

She just shrugged, as if she didn't care at all. Seeing him pulling his trunk inside, she introduced herself: "Granger. Hermione Granger."

"Harry Potter."

And then he got flooded with the titles of works in which he'd been mentioned. Well, it could have been worse...

* * *

Salvation came under the form of a round-faced boy who joined them five minutes later; they were helping him search for a lost pet. He introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, and though he didn't say much about himself (except that he had been raised by his gran and that he was believed to be a Squib – a Muggle born into a magical family), he quite enjoyed explaining to them many details about the wizarding world as they went down the whole train, desperate to find his toad.

"Just avoid those with green-lined robes. They're the Slytherins, vile Dark Arts enthusiasts... We'll be lucky if they don't hex us for disrupting," he warned.

When they had searched through five carriages, Hermione finally got the idea to make use of the Summoning Charm.

* * *

"Anything off the cart, dears?" the trolley witch appeared.

Harry had only one Galleon left after the shopping on Diagon Alley, but quickly exchanged it for a bit of every sort of candy – so that he wouldn't miss anything.

Neville settled on a large supply of Chocolate Cauldrons and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum; when it came to Hermione... Well.

"'Mione, didn't you buy anything?"

"My parents are dentists," she replied. "I don't think they would approve of me taking sweets, besides, I have some apples."

"What is a dentist?" asked Neville curiously.

"Someone who cures teeth," Harry forestalled the know-it-all. "Wizards don't have normal doctors? I mean, there are Healers and all, but-"

"Haven't you read anything?" Hermione huffed. "_Our world is much more developed than that of Muggles, because with magic we know a way to avoid invasive examinations, and who is called a doctor by the non-magical is unable to truly use the potential of magical energy, because they mainly concentrate on matter which they can see and touch_. _Wizarding Medicine_ by Urquhart Rackharrow, chapter one."

"She'll be a Raven, I tell you," Harry heard Neville whisper to him before they started together persuading Hermione that a little sugar won't do any harm.

Chocolate seemed the least hazardous, lethal, and teeth-damaging.

"Check the card first," said Neville, noticing Hermione was still reluctant to taste the Chocolate Frog.

"Wendelin the Weird," she read. "Witch who liked the Flame-Freezing Charm so much she let herself be caught and burned forty-seven times. I've already read about her in our textbook."

"Hengist of Woodcroft, the founder of Hogsmeade," Neville showed them the picture on the card. "And who do you have, Harry?"

"Bet I got Voldy," he unwrapped his frog, knowing that with his bloody luck he would see Snakeface now. "Nah... Not good either."

_Gellert Grindelwald_

_Dark Lord of Central Europe_

_Particularly known for his research of the Dark Arts and the ancient magic of life and death.  
During the Muggle Second War worked both with wizards and Muggles with an aim to end the International Statute of Secrecy.  
In 1945 defeated by Albus Dumbledore, imprisoned (unknown location)._

Harry reached for the next Chocolate Frog.

"I'm gonna find Saruman this time."

* * *

The door of the compartment slid open to reveal a tall, pale boy with blonde hair.

"I've heard Harry Potter is on the train. It's you, is it?"

"So what?" that wasn't exactly polite, but Harry didn't want another round of the situation in Leaky Cauldron a month earlier.

"I'm Malfoy – Draco Malfoy. We can be friends, support each other on our way to greatness," he said. "You don't have to associate yourself with Blood Traitors," he looked at Neville, "or Mudbloods like this one," he pointed at Hermione as if she was something filthy.

"Get out, Death Eater spawn!" Neville spat out.

"Oh, stand aside, Nev," Hermione took out her wand. "You see, I've tried a few simple spells at home..."

For some reason, the rest of the journey passed without interruption.

* * *

"Welcome to Hogwarts." said Professor McGonagall. "Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to tell you," she hesitated for a second, "that this place is most certainly safe for eleven-year-olds, has no Dark wizards lurking around and no mysteries to solve. Now, you are about to be Sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony..."

* * *

The huge hall they entered reminded him of an inside of a medieval cathedral; the arch, reinforced on pillars, was charmed to look exactly like the sky over the castle (file source: Hermione Granger's brain); light of a thousand candles reflected in the glass of arched windows. The students, sitting at four long tables, looked excited and slightly impatient. Several ghosts floated just above the ground, politely waiting till the end of the Sorting.

* * *

Oh Merlin, there was a freakin' _singing hat_.

* * *

"Potter, Harry," read professor McGonagall.

Whispers broke out like Fiendfyre when Harry sat on the stool and put the Hat on – it easily covered his eyes – and it didn't help that aside from student's hushed voices he could also hear something speaking directly into his ear.

* * *

_May it be Gryffindor,_ thought Dumbledore and McGonagall.

_Hufflepuff_, dreamed Professor Sprout.

Flitwick crossed his fingers under the table. He really wanted to have him in Ravenclaw.

_Not my house_, Snape pleaded Merlin in his mind.

* * *

"Ah... Now, where shall I Sort you, Harry Potter? Your loyalty or appreciation of hard work aren't exactly your dominant traits... Hufflepuff is out. Ravenclaw – you like knowledge, though I doubt you would be able to study that much... No, definitely not. I see courage – that's a Gryffindor trait, for sure, if only you weren't so cunning... That, together with your ambition and your.. let's call it 'future plans'... will place you in..."

He knew it.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted.

* * *

Severus Snape hid his face in his hands. A single thought crossed his overworked mind.

_I am in hell._

* * *

Harry returned the Hat to professor McGonagall and stalked towards the table decorated with emerald green.

He decided to sit between an empty place and a grim ghost stained with blood. He rather didn't want to find himself too close to any of the students from this house; they looked a bit... unpleasant. The wraith - not so much.

After they listened to a particularly interesting welcome speech ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" and so on) the food appeared on the tables, and Harry engaged in a conversation with the ghost, whose nickname turned out to be the Bloody Baron.

* * *

After the feast, Dumbledore got to his feet again.

"This year's victim is Professor Quirrell, who had just come back from Albania. I can only hope he didn't bring with himself any exotic parasites. Let's welcome him properly!"

The students clapped a few times as a skinny, pale man in a turban stood up and waved at them nervously. Professor Dumbledore continued:

"First years and the rest of pupils should note that the Forbidden Forest is full of dangerous monsters, which will _eat you_ if they get the slightest opportunity to do so. That's why it is _FORBIDDEN_. And if you do not wish to die a terrible and gruesome death, this year you will stay away from the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side. If you go there, you. Will. _Die_."

Those kind words were followed by a proposition to sing the school song. All the Slytherins around Harry notably paled, and some of the cleverer ones cast a number of soundproof charms on themselves.

* * *

A girl of fifteen or perhaps sixteen led them out of the Great Hall – and down to the dungeons.

"I am Gemma Farley, a prefect of Slytherin," she introduced herself once they were all inside the Common Room. "True, Marcus Flint should be here, helping me with telling you about the wonderful world of Hogwarts... he's probably playing Gobstones with his miserable colleagues in some hidden chamber, never mind. All of you were Sorted here because of your ambition, cunning, and pureblood heritage. This is where some of the greatest wizards of all times were in their Hogwarts years; and you'd better not bring disgrace to our house. I also have a short warning for you: remember, whatever happens in Slytherin does not leak out anywhere. Even to our Head of House, Professor Snape. All sneaks will be _immediately_ disposed of, and you will not like the outcome."

* * *

He got into the dormitory together with Zabini, Nott, two boys who must have had some troll ancestors, and – what a surprise – Draco Malfoy. The atmosphere was tense. One spark from a wand could start an explosion.

Or perhaps a spark wasn't even necessary, because right after they had unpacked their belongings, Malfoy approached him, wand out, and informed that if Harry wanted to stay, he should reconsider being friends with him, 'or else.'

"It seems you already have two minions," Harry snorted. "And what will you do, throw your wand at me?"

"Even your dirty mother knew better than to mess with the Malfoy family. One day, when the Dark Lord returns, you'll get a chance to join her."

"Shut up or cast a silencing charm," growled Zabini, who was already leaning over _The Standard Book of Spells_. "Some people here are actually trying to learn something."

"The Ravenclaws will happily accept you in their ranks, if Slytherin doesn't meet your expectations, Blaise," Malfoy shot back.

"The Dark Lord is dead," Harry stated, though he wasn't so sure of that, remembering what Flitwick had told him.

"I'm proud to say that some people are better informed than the Muggle-loving folk Dumbledore is so fond of," Malfoy said firmly. "To me, you're just another filthy Mudblood."

Before Harry could react, he heard a swish of a wand and saw a trickle of blood on his hand. Damn it. You don't have friends in Slytherin.

* * *

**Notes and Explanations:**

**Batsheda Babbling** \- Ancient Runes teacher.

**Silvanus Kettleburn** \- Care of Magical Creatures teacher before Hagrid. He lacks most of his limbs.


	4. Fire - first take

**Disclaimer:** same as in the first chapter.

Big thanks to **Yinko**, who suggested 'DL Baba Yaga'. Well, here she is!

* * *

_**NOTE: THIS IS A CRACKFIC. I DIDN'T PLAN IT THIS WAY, BUT OH WELL.**_

_**ANYWAY, MY BETA KEEPS TELLING ME THAT I SHOULD WARN YOU.**_

* * *

_**Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom**_

_**Chapter 4: Fire - first take**_

The Founders of Hogwarts were purely evil.

There is simply no other explanation that would justify the way the castle had been built. Some of the doors were fake; some of them needed to be asked gently, and a few could be opened only at a specific time with a secret spell or a password. Each of the one hundred and forty-two staircases* moved at least once per an hour; in addition, there were always sixteen vanishing steps, though you could never know if you stepped on one until you got stuck (funnily enough, they vanished _only_ for students). Not to mention the enormity of the castle itself: seven stores, fourteen towers, and three levels of dungeons, with most of these locations being guarded by vicious magical creatures, protective enchantments, misleading ghosts, wizards hiding in their Anim- anyway, many obstacles.

*(It should be noted that there was one staircase that didn't have any of these bad habits, and, generally speaking, behaved like a very good staircase. It lead to Mr. Filch's office.)**

**(The post-asterisk explanation deserves a paragraph on its own. (And brackets. Furry's Beta loves brackets. Here, have some more!))

Yeah, it's totally impossible to get lost there, isn't it?

So it seems natural that the first years should start their classes no sooner than _two_ days after the Sorting; this way they could avoid getting late on their first day at school... Which was exactly why they were not given that chance – purely for the amusement of certain members of the staff. Of course, I'm not talking about the Potions Master, who was just a pure-hearted hero, or the caretaker, that kind man who loved cats and children.

* * *

That was why Harry took the necessary precautions, deciding to get up at six – so that he had the time to find the Great Hall, his friends, and then the specified classroom. Another reason – few of his housemates would be awake that early. He certainly didn't want a repeat of the previous evening, and if he was really lucky, he might be also able to reread a few pages from _The Standard Book of Spells_ so he wouldn't make a complete idiot of himself in front of the purebloods.

Our protagonist must have been incredibly lucky, considering the fact he had managed to get halfway to the Great Hall – or so he thought – without getting into any significant trouble.

_"Already lurking around, Potter?"_

It was his Head of House – that intelligent, talented, brave man who loved- oh Merlin, wrong POV, sorry. I mean 'that cold, cruel, slimy git who enjoyed humiliating students, docked points for nothing at all, and seemed to hate Harry at the first sight'.

"I'm on my way to breakfast, professor."

"Interesting," Snape visibly livened up. "Lying to a teacher? I would say you were trying to sneak out of the castle, considering we're in the corridor of Gregory the Smarmy. The Great Hall is in the opposite direction."

Harry considered telling him that a little, colorful ghost had shown him the way there, but soon decided against it, since it would most likely fall on deaf ears. "Thank you, sir," he turned back and hurried past the statue of the alchemist.

"Five points from Slytherin!" Snape yelled after him. He hated to deduct points from his own house, but the loathe of James Potter was even stronger.

* * *

Technically speaking, breakfast at Hogwarts lasts one hour from two minutes past seven; in reality, students from Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff usually prefer to wait as long as they can. That early you could spot only those who didn't want to waste their time later – cats, nerds, and future Dark Lords.

So Harry strolled along the Ravenclaw table in search of someone reading – OK, that was pretty pointless, considering the house – but anyway, he wouldn't overlook that hair.

He glomped Hermione from behind, snatching _Hogwarts: A History_ from her hands, thus earning himself a stern look from a tabby sitting on the staff table.

"How is it going, 'Mione?" he made a step back, careful to keep the book out of her reach. She followed him to the empty Slytherin table, describing in detail her newly-met acquaintances (he reasoned that her housemates were just as friendly as his were not), squealing at the sight of a wraith levitating over porridge ("Meet the Bloody Baron, he's not as bad as he looks like."), and exciting over how much studying they had (_WHAT?_) while he was eating the breakfast.

Harry finished his treacle tart and turned to look at the few students who arrived in the meantime. "Have you seen Neville?"

She shook her head. "We can wait for him."

"Well, he's probably still asleep," he glanced at his watch – about quarter past seven.

Hermione followed with her eyes. "What happened to your hand? It looks like an effect of the Severing Charm."

"It will heal on its own, 'Mione. Let's- what class do we have, anyway?"

"Charms is first, double period, together. Classroom 2E. I wonder how we're supposed to locate everything from the beginning" she made a move to approach some older Raven, presumably a prefect, but Harry didn't find it necessary.

"We just have to look for it – trust me, it'll be easy. Although it would be great if we had, say, an enchanted map of the whole castle that shows where everyone is, and other things..."

"Harry, that's impossible! Isn't Hogwarts unplottable or something?"

* * *

"Why don't we ask someone," Hermione suggested, already starting to lose her patience.

Of course Harry knew better.

"Somehow you were able to find the Library right away!" he huffed, pacing along the wall. "Perhaps it's even higher?"

"It can't be, unless you mean the towers. We're on the top floor already," she pointed out in annoyance. "If you want to skip the first lesson of magic, it's fine, but don't drag me into this. Excuse me," she accosted a wizard on the nearest tapestry, "which way is Classroom 2E?"

"Find the Grand Staircase, then go straight through the Third Floor Corridor, to the Charms Corridor," he replied, trying in vain to find his wand. He seemed to have an excessive problem with a couple of infuriated trolls.

"See? That's easy," Hermione thanked the wizard and went on. Wait... Had this door been there when they had entered and she just failed to notice it the first moment or had it only just appeared?

Nah. Must have been a trick of her mind (and totally not blatant foreshadowing).

* * *

It was only the two of them and some Raven boy inside the classroom, but the turnout slowly increased. The second he decided to sit with Hermione, he burned the bridge between him and his housemates; honestly, he didn't care that much. He was already _the half-blood_ and nothing more.

"At one desk with _this_? I didn't know a wizard could fall this low," somebody remarked.

"Theo, he's no wizard. It's a miracle he made it to our house," Malfoy waved it off, approaching with his escort.

Harry turned the page to read about the use of Lumos against spectral monsters. "It seems you've forgotten about one _very_ well-known half-blood Slytherin," he said without rising his gaze, remembering a couple of facts from _The History of Magic._

Dead silence fell at once; the Slytherins stared at him, the looks on their faces varying from absolute horror to cold fury.

"How dare you bring up _his_ blood status!" Malfoy hissed, whipping out his wand and pointing it at Harry.

"He certainly _was_ a powerful wizard, wouldn't you agree?"

That conversation could end up badly, if not for the professor's arrival. Malfoy once again gave his trademark sneer and went to his desk with Crabbe. Or Goyle. Or, who cares.

"Didn't you even read _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_?" Hermione whispered.

"Huh? Not yet, I had to wade through all the school books. Did I say something wrong? As far as I've read, Merlin was a half-blood and he studied at Hogwarts as a Slytherin, right?"

* * *

The first spell they were introduced to was the Wand-Lighting Charm, one of the most practical, simple charms, created with a single line of MageScript – which doesn't exactly mean it was so easy to perform. They repeated tracing the required loop with their wands and pronouncing the incantation, but only a few managed to master the spell before the end of the class.

"Lu-lu-lu-," mostly nothing. Mostly.

"Loo-MOSS!" strange plants sprouting from the wand were nothing unheard of.

"Lu- ARGH, NOX! NOX! DAMMIT!" the flare is rather self-explanatory.

"LUMOS!" that would result in a nice _boom_ from overcharging the spell.

Only then Harry has tried using his holly wand for the first time since buying it; he hadn't even unpacked it before going to Hogwarts. The wood still felt weird and unnaturally warm in touch; it didn't exactly refuse to channel his magic – more like it wanted to control the outcome of it? He wondered if it could be fixed; it was his job to cast spells, the wand was just a tool, after all.

Next time he was in London, he would ask Mr. Ollivander for an explanation.

* * *

History was never his favorite subject, but Harry was far from detesting it just because it required a lot of memory work... And then, he met professor Binns.

First-years of all houses gathered in the dusty classroom to see a faint silvery form emerge straight from the blackboard, glide over to the teacher's desk and begin the lecture.

After the first five minutes most of the students fell into slumber. Since Harry would never forgive himself for such a waste of time, he started to work on point one of his Side Project: _do history research__ –__ Dark __wizards and witches__, objectives, means of working, successful or not._

The biography of Baba Yaga (an early-medieval Slavic witch who conquered the forests of Russia, Poland, Czech lands, and Slovakia; studied the Familiar bonds on her black cat and various wild animals; and apparently believed strongly in women's rights, since she titled herself a Dark Lord instead of a Dark Lady) turned out to be far more absorbing than a hundred of goblins slaying each other for no apparent reason.

* * *

Severus sat at his desk, absently clearing the burned wood with flicks of his wand and daydreaming about giving a lifetime detention to the whole Hufflepuff House, when the sight of a group of students entering the lab reminded him that a lesson was about to begin.

Waiting for the rest of class. Short speech about the art of potion-brewing. Roll call. Pop quiz. Whom shall he choose? Oh yesss...

"Potter!" he barked. "What is a herb called the northern water hemlock used for?"

"Its infusion can be used to quickly poison somebody. If its root had been extracted from soil exactly at midnight, it can be used to brew a complicated mixture used to summon spirits."

Why was everyone giving him these strange, frightened looks?

Snape said nothing, for a couple of seconds just standing and piercing Harry with his gaze, then he suddenly turned towards one of the Gryffindor students, black robes billowing dramatically behind him.

"Weasley, another example of its use?"

"Oh, c'mon," Nott moaned, albeit quietly, so as not to attract Snape's attention.

The boy called Weasley shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

"I see... Gryffindor has just lost ten points, thanks to your ignorance. Blaise, I assume you will be able to name one more draught with hemlock as a core ingredient, and its effects?"

"Tham Potion, professor. One of the most important mixtures, as it counteracts the effects of Dark Magic."

"Point to Slytherin. Now, Longbottom," Snape leaned over the boy, his face twisted in a smile (more like a smiling dragon than anything else), "perhaps you know the difference between wolfsbane and aconite?"

"They're the same plant. Also called monkshood," Neville answered firmly, even though it was clear he didn't feel too much at ease in the presence of that particular teacher.

"I believe I didn't ask for any additional information," sneered Snape. "You're just a big-headed prat who can't wait to show off in front of his housemates. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

* * *

"What possesed you to say that?" Neville pulled him aside when the class ended.

"What do you mean?"

"You, a _first-year_ student raised by Muggles, were describing one of the Darkest rituals the Wizarding World knows of! Well, it could always be worse... But it doesn't matter, no normal wizard even _mentions_ it in a conversation!"

"Uh... I read about it in primary school. Facultative Literature assignment, I felt masochistic and chose _Macbeth._"

* * *

As all of the first years gathered on Tuesday, waiting for Professor Quirrell, the three friends took their time to talk a bit, mainly about the first impressions concerning the school. Neville brought someone with him; it was the ginger boy Snape had asked in Potions. Harry supposed he had been somewhere among the group he had seen on King's Cross.

His full name was Ron Weasley; he got on with Harry and Hermione quite well... Except for the very beginning:

"The Boy Who Lived is a Snake?"

"Somehow I am," Harry didn't want to get into the details of his Sorting. "Is that a problem for you?"

"My whole family has a strong Light affiliation," said Ron. "I don't really have anything against you personally, but... well, Slytherin."

"Do I look like a Muggle-hating Dark wizard?" Harry sighed. "We can be friends."

Ron hesitated a bit, but took Harry's hand to shake it. "I know a cool spell, wanna see?"

He pulled a large rat from the pocket of his robes and tapped it lightly with his wand.

_"__Parchment, dragon, oak knur,  
make my pet grow scarlet fur!"_

A visible undershade of red spread over the creature, starting from the end of the tail. The rat didn't look pleased with the change.

"An improvised version of the Colovaria Charm!" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Where did you read about it?"

"My brother George taught me this one. I tried with other colors, but not all of them work on Scabbers."

"Run for your life," Harry advised. "She won't let you go until you tell her everything about that spell."

* * *

"A rat?" asked Harry. "I thought students are allowed only cats, owls and toads."

"Technically speaking, you're right," said Hermione. "If you want to take an irregular pet, you have to owl the Care of Magical Creatures professor and ask for a permission."

If only he had known how useful would that information prove in the future.

* * *

If Harry felt disappointed after DADA, it was for one reason.

"W-welcome to the Defence Against the Da-dark Arts class," Quirrell said to the first-years, once everyone had taken their seats. "During o-o-our first m-meeting we-we'll be taking a clo-loser look at the sa-safety regul-reg-regulations and guidelines."

Well, he would need to spare some more time every day for battle magic.

* * *

In Charms some continued working on Lumos, while the rest started practicing the spell used to conjure a small flame. Harry didn't have much trouble with casting it; on the other side, he had to deal with Hermione despairing about how unfair it was for him to do better than her despite not memorizing the entire theory.

"Don't worry. It's normal for us," one of the Raven girls commented; Harry vaguely recalled her name to be Lisa. "Without competition, we wouldn't study as much."

* * *

Transfiguration was hell. Literally.

There would be definitely less pressure if they didn't share this class with Ravenclaw. Much to the surprise of (almost) everyone, the first student to finish the spell was Hermione. A few seconds after her also Terry Boot was holding a needle. Harry focused for the fifth time in a row to turn the bloody match into anything sharp and metal.

For some reason, his wand preferred to ignite it.

* * *

He spent the evening in the dormitory, working on improving his flame; by then, he could cast the spell nearly every time he tried. If only he was able to make the fire smokeless, he might score an E in Charms the next day.

"I doubt it will help much. 'Halfbloods' and 'magic' don't usually go together."

Harry didn't protest, apart from an angry glare, as Malfoy leaned over and took the stick out of his hand.

He rolled it between his fingers. "I bet you got some cheap shit. Doesn't look like Ollivander's proper work."

"It's phoenix and holly. Y'know, Voldemort's brother core."

Harry didn't suspect someone could drop a wand that fast.

* * *

Wednesday started with Herbology (Gryffindor plus Slytherin. Apparently the teachers wished for more lethal _accidents_.) They worked in fours on a simple task: extracting the juice from a sopophorous bean. Harry's group was the only mixed one – I wonder why? – he, Ron, Neville, and Tracey Davis, who didn't have too much problems working with them, since one of her grandfathers was a Muggleborn. After some time, it became clear what their Herbology skills were.

Ron sat under the table. He deemed it pointless to dive there every time his bean bounced away.

Tracey spent fifty minutes trying to drill a hole in the husk.

Harry was slowly and methodically stabbing the bean with a silver dagger.

They didn't have to worry anyway; a full pot of the juice had already been sitting in front of them. But why was Neville crying every time he looked at their mutilated beans?

* * *

On Thursday morning he was studying like mad – Merlin, even Hermione asked if everything was alright! No, it wasn't. He would have to survive double Potions.

* * *

Harry was exhilarated. He'd lost only one point, and only because he got stuck on some super-simple question about goats.

* * *

Friday was the first day he did not get lost in the castle, partially because he stuck to his friends, and partially because he finally gave up and asked his house ghost to show him the shortest way to the Great Hall. By the way, soon he should search for some quiet place to practice his spells; the Common Room had a very specific atmosphere and a nice touch to it, but the company could be unbearable.

"...these Mudbloods have no sense whatsoever, occupying the library like crazy... It's about time a huge snake appeared and ate them all!"

"And if that isn't enough, even our house is plagued with it... Oh, here he is."

Somebody's shadow was cast over his Transfiguration notes. OK, this time Harry was really going to do something about it. He didn't even have to think much about what he was doing when he slowly raised his wand, directing it at Malfoy. And lashed it to the left.

_"Incendio!"_

It was wonderful, watching the bright flame erupting from the wood, knowing what it had been used for, feeling power washing over him; through the flames he saw Goyle leaping back, covering his face with his sleeve, his robes and hair burning... Wait, he didn't intend to cause any harm, just scare them! Why, there was no need to stop-

_"POTTER!"_

Before he could react, his wand was thrown out of his grasp. Professor Snape stood in front of him with an expression that promised nothing good.

"Headmaster Dumbledore wishes to see you. _Now._"

* * *

**AN: Just to keep it short:  
**

**1\. Wow, over 3300 words in one chapter? What had happened to me? I promise, if you demand more, I will set my cat after you.**

**2\. To the very end, there will be no romance involving Harry. Don't get your hopes high.**

**3\. I mostly follow the structure of the castle, but not the class schedule.**

**4\. In case you were wondering – I didn't change anyone's house, apart from Harry's and Hermione's.**

**5\. Thank you for all the faves and follows! Siriusly, I hadn't expect it. And the reviews - _fifteen_? After just three chapters? You're awesome!**

**Next chapter: 8 XI 2014, maybe sooner.**


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